


Ink

by slashmania



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Arthur loves Eames's tattoos, Love, M/M, Romance, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:36:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1753106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmania/pseuds/slashmania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur was in love with Eames's tattoos long before he fell for the man himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net
> 
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/9967733/1/Ink

Ink

The Point Man had always had been attracted to the Forger. But, Arthur was in love with Eames's tattoos long before he fell for the man himself.

Arthur never realized how interesting Eames's tattoos were. It was what led to Arthur's realization that he had an unresolved ink fetish. It also got Arthur his one and _only_ tattoo.

But it all began with something as simple and normal as a stained shirt.

* * *

Arthur had been in the Cobb's kitchen assisting Ariadne in the decoration of young James Cobb's birthday cake.

She wouldn't allow _anyone_ near it while she had been 'creating the levels' and 'doing the final calculations'. It really meant making absolutely sure that the three round cake pans full of golden cake batter baked all the way through without falling, but it was clear that the Inception had left a great impression on the Architect.

When little James had asked for a cake with _racing cars_ _all over it_ , he had clearly not anticipated his father's girlfriend to make such an in depth and accurate race track cake. Once the finished product was seen it was almost a shame to eat it.

Arthur had been helping her place the plastic bleachers for the toy race car fans to sit at, put the fans with their families on the bleachers, and set the cute little figurine that was selling hotdogs at the base of it. He had the red car closest to the finish line on the black icing coated track. The blue, lime green, and white cars were placed at different points on the track behind it. But the red one had to be the winning car because it was James's favorite color.

He was putting the finishing touches on James's name as he wrote it in icing, moving aside to let Ariadne place the candles on top of the cake, when Eames walked into the kitchen.

Arthur didn't have to look up to know that it was Eames. He wasn't going to swoon like a teenage girl over how close the person he was attracted to entered the room. Arthur just recognized the sound of the Forger's footsteps. Curious, Arthur had looked over his shoulder.

He had been about to say something when all the words he had intended to say disappeared at the sight of Eames without a shirt on. The fact that the man had a smear of red across his temple that was drying his hair registered a half a second later.

"Did you get attacked by one of the children?" Arthur asked in confusion, moving forwards anyway with a towel he had paused to dampen a little at the sink. When he came closer to the Forger, he pressed the towel gently against the side of Eames's head. He removed it carefully to see what sort of damage Eames could have gotten while playing with the children.

When he noticed that the mark was gone and there was no wound underneath, he frowned.

Eames shrugged, not seeming too embarrassed to not have a shirt on with the Point Man standing so close.

"The little buggers thought that it was smart to have a ketchup fight." He held up his balled up shirt as proof.

"I managed to get away but my shirt paid the price, darling. As nice as it is for you to so sweetly tend to my tomato paste injuries, may I soak my shirt in the sink before the stains set in?"

Arthur blushed and shoved the damp towel against Eames's bare chest, trying to ignore him as he pushed past him and gave him free access to the kitchen sink.

"The shirt was past all hope when it was _clean_ , Mr. Eames."

It didn't stop the Forger from moving to the sink, turning on the water, and submerging his ugly and ketchup stained shirt.

Ariadne had snorted at the joke and turned her attentions back to the cake while Arthur leaned against the other counter to watch Eames soak and scrub at the shirt.

It was then that he noticed the other man's tattoos.

There were several- designs and characters, names, and numbers. They littered his skin. Across his shoulders, on one side of the neck…it was like Eames had allowed some skilled tattooist decorate his body with the things that he needed to remember; important people as well as important things that were too permanent for paper and needed to be recorded into his skin with ink.

Arthur watched the muscles of the Forger's back move as he scrubbed and wrung out his shirt at the sink. He was half in awe of the way that Eames could just do something like that- he probably stripped the shirt off while still outside, allowing his bare skin to be presented to the light of day and the eyes of strangers.

If Arthur had been in the same situation, stuck in the middle of a ketchup fight between teams of unruly little children at a birthday party, he doubted that he would have been able to emulate the Forger.

No, he would have slipped into the house, found a bathroom, and tried to clean up in privacy. He was a private person by nature, but supposed that it was Eames's nature to not be worried about a situation like that.

Arthur tore his eyes away from the tattoos and the Forger's naked back, when he heard more footsteps. Looking at the doorway, Arthur saw Dom carrying a wriggling birthday boy.

Both the Cobb men were covered in ketchup.

Upon seeing Eames at the sink, the Extractor coughed and cleared his throat to apologize. "I didn't think that children could start a war with condiments…"

Eames chuckled and waved one damp hand in the other man's direction. "You obviously need to dream bigger if you don't think that kids can't put two and two together. In this case, if you take free bottles of ketchup and busy parents, you will get several children and one bystander named Eames coated in Heinz."

He laughed again and looked over his shoulder to where Arthur stood.

"But I guess I can thank the little ones for small miracles. This little escapade made Arthur stare at me while shirtless for a good solid ten minutes!"

He winked at Arthur, which made the Point Man blush in embarrassment for being caught and dragged into the conversation.

The Point Man lifted his chin, glared at Eames, and hissed, " _You missed a spot, Mr. Eames_!" before leaving the kitchen entirely.

* * *

After that event, Arthur seemed way too focused on catching another glimpse of these tattoos that graced the Forger's skin.

He now had a new reason to resent the other man's ugly clothes.

Not only were they a crime against fashion, but they also blocked the view of the interesting things that the Forger had scrawled upon his body.

Arthur wanted to learn the story behind each tattoo. He wanted to look at them more closely and even admire the artwork.

When Arthur was lost in a day dream about what it would be like to _touch them_ , run his fingers up and down the lines and follow their paths, he realized that there was a problem.

When Eames caught Arthur staring one too many times, the preening began.

Eames, who always chose to sit close to Arthur, now made it so there would be one reason or another for him to make his shirt ride up and expose the trailing design of a tattoo on his back.

Unbutton his shirt too far as he wore an undershirt, revealing the marks across his neck, the lines of ink that stretched across his chest.

When he would catch Arthur watching him, the Forger would send a wink his way and preen under the other man's attention.

The Point Man would ignore Eames as best he could, but his eyes would eventually be drawn to the man anyway.

Eventually, Arthur decided that he needed his very own tattoo.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who had inspired it, and so, Arthur kept it hidden from everyone.

Until Eames found out about it.

* * *

Arthur hadn't been drunk when he got his tattoo.

He would never allow himself that kind of excuse to take away the meaning for the image he chose and the placement.

Arthur knew _why_ he had he had wanted it. He also knew that he never wanted anyone to ever find out about it.

It was something to be kept secret. Something that he could hide underneath his neatly pressed shirt and waistcoat.

It was a mark that after awhile he began to trace as he laid in bed, something that he did as he was lulling himself into a dreamless and nightmare free sleep.

There was something about this mark that felt like it was a charm against harm. That it was something lucky.

That thought always made him smile as he prepared to go to work, dressing in front of the mirror and admiring his ink. Then he would dress and it would be hidden, one of the few secrets that belonged only to him.

And then, he had gotten shot.

* * *

It was an accident. Or as much of an accident as a gun fight occurring while escaping from the shifty hotel they had been working their Extraction from could be. They hadn't expected their sleeping mark to have doting friends with guns, ready to burst in on them as the team awoke from their PASIV induced sleep.

The happy point of this would be that not a single one of the team had been killed. All had managed to rip the needles from their arm or wrist, become armed, and exchange gunfire with their new guests.

The mark was killed by friendly fire.

So, when Arthur had gotten nailed on the shoulder by a bullet not intended for him, fell to the ground, but managed to switch his gun to his other hand in order to still remain fighting there was no longer a need.

Their attackers had fled or were killed. While Ariadne packed up the PASIV and Dom used some spare sheets to cover the dead, Eames moved instantly towards Arthur, eagerly unbuttoning the man's shirt trying to give him aid for his wound.

The Forger didn't understand Arthur's unrest as he tried to take off the man's shirt.

"No," Arthur said, in short clipped words, already pale from his blood loss and the pain. "Its fine. The bullet just grazed me!"

Eames bit his lip and shook his head. "Love, this is no time to be shy- you're bleeding rather heavily for just a graze mark!"

After Arthur's weak struggling, Eames finally pulled the Point Man's shirt open and stared.

He looked at the mark on the Point Man's chest, tried to form words, tried to say _something_ , when Dom called over to them.

"Is everything okay? We have to get moving right now!"

When he saw that Arthur was conscious and breathing, the Extractor nodded sharply and spoke to Eames.

"Get him on his feet and help him run- if we leave now we _might_ be just ahead of any authority that still polices this area."

The conversation between Eames and Arthur would have to wait until they were less likely to be pinned for murder.

* * *

Back at their crummy motel, Eames helped Arthur to his room and stayed there for longer than necessary to help him with his wound and help carry his things.

"I _told_ you that it wasn't so serious!" Arthur said with his back to the other man. His shoulder wound had been cleaned and covered with a heavy pad of gauze. It had been a deeper gouging wound than a graze implied, but still.

Eames wouldn't pull his attention away from the other man's chest, or more accurately, the tattoo that had been inked right over the Point Man's heart.

"Darling, did you really think you'd be able to hide it for so long?"

Arthur paused his packing to stare at the Forger who had his back against the motel room door. It was unclear whether it was meant to keep intruders out or Arthur in.

"I had better hopes than you- the man that has been finding every excuse under the sun to pull off his shirt and flash the tattoos!" Arthur said while rolling his eyes.

Eames frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

"You know what I meant, love."

Arthur stopped and sat down on the corner of his bed. He looked at Eames and then pressed his fingers against the tattoo over his heart, the one that had caught and held Eames's attention for very obvious reasons.

There were only so many ideas that could come to mind when Arthur was found to have a poker chip tattooed over his heart. One was that Arthur's love of Eames's tattoos and his love of Eames had become entangled and required some form of expression. Arthur loved Eames, but he had loved the other man's tattoos first.

"It wasn't meant to be hidden," Arthur said, almost to himself. "Not really. I wanted to keep it close. It was something that I wanted to remember and couldn't think of a better way than to have it written on my skin…"

Eames smiled. "Can I get a little die?"

Arthur nodded quickly. "Yes, sure, whatever- just get over here right now and let me do what I've wanted to for months. I want to run my hands over those marks of yours; I want to know why they were special enough to be tattooed onto you forever."

Eames laughed aloud as he pushed himself away from the door, approaching Arthur.

"My, my," he said, having a chance to examine the other man's tattoo in detail. "I never thought that seeing me without a shirt would inspire you to do this. Do you have an unresolved ink fetish, darling?"

Arthur growled. "Not unresolved, Eames. It's unconsummated. Get over here and let me touch you!"

Eames's eyes lit up and he smiled happily. "Of course, darling. I'm all for consummation."

* * *

It should be mentioned that neither man had professed love or devotion at that time. If it had been a scene of a movie, there would be no syrupy love songs played in the background. But, all the same, it was something that they would always know without having to verbalize. There were times for words and there were times for actions. Later, Arthur and Eames would say those special three words to each other, often tacking them onto the end of a mocking phrase- "You want a little more _specificity?_ I love you, darling!" or "I love you despite that horrible shirt…fine, I love you for it too!"

But, for them, they had their signs of devotion and love skillfully inscribed onto their skin permanently. They could trace those marks and underneath their questing fingers feel the steady rhythmic beat and call for returning to quarters, that they were each other's shelter.

That it was a message that consisted of hardly any words and imparted a great deal of meaning despite that fact, neither Arthur nor Eames needed to go to greater lengths to express their feelings for each other. On Valentine's, it was enough for Arthur to lay his hand against the red die that had been tattooed onto the Forger's chest, just over his heart. He could whisper the endearment against Eames's neck, tracing the shape of the die, smiling and satisfied and certain.

It was on those days that Arthur thought, "Eat your heart out, Hallmark."


End file.
